He was still going to rid himself of his attraction to her, but not now. Not yet. In this moment, Effie was in his care. Vexing as she was, Gabriel didn’t take the charge of her lightly.

“How does he do it?” Miss Compton whispered to Lord Mannering. “Why doesn’t he fall?”

“He never falls,” Lord Mannering said under his breath. “The man’s a marvel.”

Galezzo continued across the wire, grinning broadly. He seemed to draw confidence from the astounded murmurs. He’d just reached the opposite side, and was preparing to retrace his steps backward, when the iron hook that secured the cable to the tree gave an ominous screech.

Time stood still—hundreds of people frozen to the spot, looking up with matching expressions of horror. Effie’s hand clenched Gabriel’s spasmodically as a woman’s shrill cry pierced the silence. The man in the plaid trousers sprinted to the platform in company with several workmen. But it was all too late.

Metal scraped against metal as the hook broke free of its chain moorings.

Galezzo’s face betrayed a split second of dismay before the wire slackened under his feet and he plummeted forty feet to the ground, landing on the gravel promenade.

Screams rent the air, and the crowd rushed forward. Gabriel pulled Effie in front of him, shielding her with his body. Someone shoved him hard in the back, and another nearly trampled over Miss Compton. She appeared to have fainted dead away on the grass. Beside her, Miss Mannering turned an odd shade of green before sinking down into her skirts. Powell staggered, white-faced, to help her, looking as though he might be sick himself.

People were crying and shouting on every side, their attentions scattered between the surfeit of collapsing ladies and the broken and bleeding body of the lifeless Galezzo.

“Somebody help him!” a man cried.

“A doctor! Is anyone a doctor?” another called out.

“I’m a doctor!” someone replied. “Out of my way!”

Effie’s knees buckled. Gabriel swept her up into his arms before she could fall. He had a vague impression of Mannering and Powell crouched down, tending to Miss Compton and Miss Mannering. Gabriel didn’t pause to inquire after the ladies’ welfare. He was thinking of only one lady.

“Is Galezzo dead?” someone cried out amid the shouts and screams.

“If he isn’t, he soon will be,” an unhelpful male voice replied. “He’s broken his head.”

Effie moaned softly. “Oh God.”

“Don’t look.” Gabriel pressed her face into the curve of his neck. Turning from the gruesome scene, he carried her away, shouldering a path for them back through the crowd.

“I saw him fall. I saw his face—”